First there is Adam Weinberger’s long childhood, in a world that has no idea yet what is in store for it. The childhood of a lover of illusions, who dreams of changing the world and of freeing his family from the burden of a tradition that he finds unbearable. The adolescence of a young boy who is unable to express his love for Esther, his admiration for his uncle, his tenderness toward his mother. The helplessness of a young man who sees that dreams and fiction are unable to halt the destruction of this world and its inhabitants. Later there are fragments of narrations, the broken mirror that, through more or less well-meaning intermediaries, reflects the flight of this child who has become a man, who no longer believes in dreams, who no longer believes in words who has taken refuge in gestures, those of his profession, medicine, and those of his great passion, the construction of ships in bottles. And who flees words and other people to the point of losing his identity. Between the two is there, of which one dares not speak. And then, in the end, after forgetting, at the end of all the flights, there is the return of childhood from beyond death, the single truth of a work of fiction of the narration of a life.